I recognized him the moment I saw him.

In person, James Camden looks exactly as he does in pictures—from his sandy blond hair to his sharp gray eyes to the arrogant arch of his eyebrows. He’s leaner than I am, and taller than I expected, and he carries himself like a man who knows he’s incredibly intelligent. I hated him before I even met him, but now that he’s in front of me, that hate goes even deeper.

I don’t remember moving, but I suddenly find myself on top of him, his collar in my grip and my other fist slamming into his face.

I’m only dimly aware of everything else happening around me. Somewhere in the distance, I hear music, and people exclaiming, and a woman shouting my name. But my entire focus is on the bastard in front of me.

How dare he try to dance with Justine, after everything he’s done to her? He has no claim on her, not anymore. She’s mine. This bastard will never hurt her again. Will never touch her again. Not if I have anything to say about it…

My vision has gone red, and I blink, trying to clear my head. Everything is still a blur around me, but I feel someone tugging on my arm, and a beautiful voice saying my name.

Justine…

I sit up, still blinking. Justine is squeezing my arm, her nails digging into my skin as she tries to pull me back. There is a flurry of emotions on her face—fear, anger, worry—and my gut twists when I realize I’m the cause.

Slowly, I stumble to my feet, looking around. People have pulled away from us, forming a small circle around the little scene I’ve just caused. I can still hear the music playing on the far side of the room, still see dancers twirling past beyond the circle of onlookers, but with every passing moment, more people are stopping to gawk at what’s unfolding before them.

Justine has released me, and now she’s kneeling next to her former lover, gingerly touching his cheek. The man looks slightly dazed, but otherwise no worse for the wear. I clench and unclench my fist, grimacing at the stab of pain that shoots through my knuckles. Apparently I’m a clumsy fighter when I’m drunk. I’m both disappointed and immensely relieved that the bastard probably won’t suffer anything worse than a black eye.

Suddenly, Justine twists her head and glares at me, the shock in her eyes replaced by pure anger.

“What’s gotten into you?” she demands.

Do you really have to ask that? I want to shout at her. After everything this bastard did to you? But despite my drunkenness, I haven’t forgotten where we are, or who else is here. I glance around at all the stunned faces of Rosvalia’s citizens. This isn’t the place to air Justine’s secrets, or to hash out our marital problems.

“I…I thought heard him threaten you,” I say finally. “I thought I saw a knife.”

A couple of people at the edge of the circle gasp and step back, pulling away from the man on the ground. One man raises his voice over the other sounds in the Hall.

“I’ll go call the Royal Guard, Your Highness,” he says. He disappears before I have the chance to stop him.

Justine’s mouth tightens at my blatant lie, but a second later, understanding flashes in her eyes. She glances around at the onlookers, and though her anger doesn’t appear to fade, she gives a small nod.

“Thank you for trying to defend me, husband,” she says calmly and evenly. “But as you can see, he has no weapon.”

I crouch down next to her, pretending to look around him for a knife. James has started to shake off his dazedness, and he sits up fully, glaring at me with those gray eyes.

“Is this how you treat honored guests in this country?” he asks, rubbing his jaw.

“Forgive me,” I say stiffly. “I wasn’t aware you were an honored guest. Should I know who you are?”

The man’s eyes flash—he’s used to people knowing who he is, apparently. But I won’t give him that satisfaction.

He’s arrogant, I find myself thinking. That will make it easy to rile him.

Justine is still gripping his arm, and she helps him up. “This is James Camden, the keynote speaker at the conference.”

I know she’s speaking for the benefit of the crowd, not for me, but I nod along as if I had no idea.

“I didn’t realize you knew my wife,” I tell the man, extending my hand. “Forgive me, Mr. Carden. Let me help you up.”

“It’s Camden,” he says stiffly. “Doctor Camden. And I can get up on my own.”

“Suit yourself,” I say with a shrug. I force a grin as I look at the onlookers. “It looks like this was all just a big misunderstanding,” I tell them lightly. Apparently I was a little overzealous in attacking this poor fellow. I’ll admit I get a little over-protective of your princess, but can you blame me? She’s a woman worth protecting.”

Many people murmur their agreement, and a few even let out cheers—for me or for their princess, I don’t know, but either way, I seem to have avoided a PR crisis. Justine is still frowning at me, though.

A few members of the Royal Guard break through the crowd, shouting orders that the drunk, joyful citizens seem resistant to follow, especially since it’s clear that there’s no actual danger.

“Thank you for your rapid response,” I tell them with a wave of my hand. “But your assistance isn’t needed after all.” To the crowd, I add, “Forgive me for causing a scene in the middle of your celebration. Please, resume your revelry. And have an extra drink to celebrate the safety and wellbeing of your beloved Princess Justine.”

Another cheer goes up, and I reach into my wallet and grab what little money I have there. It’s only enough for a dozen drinks or so, but I shove it into the hands of a woman standing nearby. “For a toast,” I tell her.

James has gotten to his feet, and he’s taking no pains to hide his disdain for me. I suppose I can’t blame the fellow—I did punch him in the face within seconds of meeting him. But I couldn’t care less what the man thinks of me.

What I care more about is the fact that Justine is still gripping his arm, apparently supporting him. Rage and jealousy burn through me, until I can’t tell one from the other.

“Guards,” I call to the uniformed men. “Apparently we need your services after all. To make up for my egregious behavior, I’d like to offer Dr. James Camden a royal escort back to his guest quarters.”

“That won’t be necessary,” James says.

“I insist. It’s the least I could do.” I grin at him, and the man’s eyebrows snap together. If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess he’s a few minutes away from punching me in the face.

Let him, I think, my grin widening. It will only make him look bad. I’ve already won the people back to my side—by some miracle—and having him attack me will only help my case. I could exile him, and no one—except perhaps Justine—would blame me for it.

My eyes shift back to my wife. Her expression has gone blank, and that scares me more than the anger she showed a few moments ago.

“Dr. Camden?” one of the guards says. “If you would come this way, we’d be happy to escort you back to the palace.”

“Take him to the physician’s quarters,” I say. “I want to make sure he receives the best care, especially after that welcome. Again, Dr. Camden, forgive me—I suffer no threats, physical or otherwise, to my beloved wife. You understand, of course.”

James’ glare is answer enough, but at last he seems to have read the mood of the surrounding crowd, and he seems to realize he’s trapped.

“Believe me, Your Highness,” he says, his eyes full of meaning. “I wish nothing but the best for Justine. Nothing but pleasure.”

No one else seems to have noticed that he failed to use Justine’s title. But I did. And I can tell from the glint in James’ eyes that he knows I noticed.

So it has begun, I think. The gauntlet has been thrown. I should have known when I baited a man as proud and arrogant as James Camden that he would fight back. If he’d had any intention of keeping things purely professional between himself and Justine during this conference, that’s gone now—I can see it in his eyes. I’ve staked my claim—quite publicly—and I realize now that it’s only inspired this bastard to reassert a claim of his own.

James walks determinedly—if a bit stiffly—over to the guards, and they lead him through the crowd. But he glances over his shoulder at me as he passes, and the look in his eyes leaves no doubt as to his intentions.

Justine starts to follow. “I should go with him.”

“Darling,” I say, catching her arm. “He’ll be fine. We should finish our dance.”

A few of the onlookers laugh, and the crowd starts to disperse. Enough still watch, though, that I know Justine will hesitate to make a scene.

“I don’t want to dance,” she says sharply under her breath. “Not now.”

“Then I’ll escort you back to our suite,” I say cheerfully. “I believe we were discussing—”

“If you think I want to be around you now, after what you just pulled, you’re bloody insane.” She pulls her arm from my grip. “I want to go back to the palace, but I’ll be sleeping in my own room tonight.”

She’s speaking quietly, so no one will overhear, but she still glances around before slipping through the crowd. I hurry after her.

We don’t say anything to each other until we’re well away from the Hall and the crowds. Most of the other streets are relatively empty tonight—everyone is at the celebration.

“Justine—”

“What the hell were you thinking?” she spins on me. “Attacking James, in front of all those people?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” I admit, a little sheepishly. “But when I saw him, I thought of everything he’d done to you, and I—”

“Oh, no, don’t pretend for a minute this is about me. This is about you trying to stake your claim. I swear, the two of you were two minutes away from whipping out your cocks right there.”

“Can you blame me? The audacity of that man, to try to dance—”

“It was just a dance. And I can take care of myself. I don’t care what bullshit you tell my people—I don’t need you to protect me.” She strides down the street away from me. I hurry to catch up.

“Of course you don’t need me to protect you,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

I might imagine it in the darkness of the street, but I’d swear she stumbles slightly. “I don’t want you to want to.”

“You can’t dictate what I want.”

“And now you’re just being infuriating on purpose.”

“Some women find that attractive.”

“And some women find that rage inducing.”

“Come,” I say, trying to make my tone light again. “You have to admit, a part of you was delighted to see that bastard get clocked in the face. I bet you’ve imagined yourself doing that very thing a thousand times.”

She doesn’t answer, but the corners of her mouth tighten.

“Few people would blame me if they knew the full truth,” I go on. “Or even without knowing, judging by the crowd’s reaction back there.”

“Yes, I know, you can charm your way out of a paper bag. I’m well aware of that.” She stops at the base of the palace steps and turns to me again. “I already fell for bullshit once in my life, and I have no intention of doing it again.”

I frown. “It wasn’t entirely bullshit. I do feel protective of you—”

“And we’ve already established that I don’t need your protection.”

“Justine…” I reach out to her, touch her cheek.

She jerks away from me.

“I’m going to the physician’s quarters,” she says.

Before I can argue, she runs away from me, and I’m left with nothing but a sore fist and more confusion than I care to admit.